Come Clean
by mcat
Summary: Martin and Danny think about what Martin didn't say. Slash. PG for violence and language, though.
1. Part 1 Martin

Come Clean mcat – July 15, 2004 Challenge response to the photo on Erin's Adult Martinfanfic page.  
  
God.  
  
I should be feeling pretty good right now. After being up, and on the job, for thirty-six hours straight, after spending probably half of that in the cold rain, walking through mud, after saving that girl, after saving Danny...  
  
I'm looking at the bottom of the shower stall. The dirt and mud have piled up, clogging the drain. Keeping the blood and mud on the tile, on my feet. Danny's blood on my feet. My hands.  
  
God.  
  
It happened so fast. He'd raised his hands, his empty hands. The girl ran toward us. Danny ran toward her. And then it went all wrong. She fell. Danny went to help. I got distracted. He screamed, pulled a gun, aimed at the girl. I shot. He shot. Danny saved the girl.  
  
How can I remember every detail now? How the girl tumbled over and over as Danny shoved her away. How Danny's back arched as the bullet hit. The sound of his voice as he called out my name... as he whispered my name.  
  
God.  
  
There was so much blood. So much. I hated having to send that girl back into the cabin. Back to where he'd kept her. But I needed towels, sheets, blankets... anything to stop the bleeding. But she did it, God love her. I didn't miss the fact that before she went in, she gave his corpse a swift kick. I wanted to shoot him again. For what he'd done to her. To Danny. Oh, Danny.  
  
He was strewn across my lap, those towels the girl brought out, pressed between my right thigh and his back, and he was making jokes. Or trying to. Because he knew I was scared. He was the one bleeding to death, yet he was trying to make me feel better.  
  
God.  
  
How did he know? How did he know how much I love him? How much he means to me? How did he know that if he died, I'd soon follow?  
  
"Come clean, Fitz," he said to me as the chopper, and help, arrived. "Tell me you love me."  
  
But I couldn't say the words. And they took him away from me. And now I don't know if I'll get another chance.  
  
God. 


	2. Part 2 Danny

Come Clean 2  
  
mcat – July 17, 2004  
  
Damn.  
  
We didn't see the gun. How could we not see it? And then the girl fell – it was only natural instinct to try to help her; to go to her. I guess I have to be somewhat happy – I did at least save her.  
  
But beyond the pain, beyond the screaming in my own head, I remembered Martin's voice, his eyes. The tremors and fear in both. I tried to tell him it was okay. I cracked jokes. I thought I saw something else then. I called him on it. But he didn't answer.  
  
Damn.  
  
I kinda remember the chopper ride. Feeling dizzy and sick. And mad. Hell, I'd practically made a last, dying request. Would it have been so hard to grant a dying man his wish?  
  
Jack, Viv and Samantha have all been by. Joking about how the office is so nice and quiet without me. Viv said Martin took some personal days; something about visiting his uncle and cousins. Martin didn't visit me. Maybe I'm glad.  
  
Damn.  
  
The doctors say I'll be okay. A week or so here in the hospital. A few weeks recovering at home. One even promised me he'd try to send me the cute nurses to take care of me.  
  
Yeah, just what I need. Some cute chickies to give me sponge baths. Most guys' ultimate fantasy. Mine is hiding somewhere.  
  
Damn.  
  
Maybe I'm better off. Or maybe I was wrong. I was in shock, not thinking clearly, right? Come clean, I told him. Come clean yourself, Taylor.  
  
The hole in your heart is bigger than the one in your back. And it hurts so fucking much.  
  
Damn. 


	3. Part 3 Martin

God.  
  
I'm such a fucking coward. No sooner did I find out that Danny was going  
to be all right did I begin lying to my coworkers, telling them my uncle  
and cousins needed me. Yet where have I been? I've spent the last three  
days in my apartment. Hiding.  
  
Hiding from what? From whom? Danny? Myself? The truth?  
  
God.  
  
How could I let him down like that? We're best friends. Or, we were.  
How could not saying the right thing be worse than saying the wrong  
thing?  
  
Three little words. The three little words. Not so little, though, are  
they? They're fucking huge.  
  
God.  
  
I can still see the look in Danny's eyes, the disappointment, the pain,  
as the paramedics took him from me. It hurts me just to remember it.  
  
It had nothing to do with witnesses, of being outed. I'd had time to say  
it before they showed. But I wouldn't. I didn't.  
  
God.  
  
I thought I could chalk it up to shock – that I was so surprised by  
Danny's request that I was speechless – but I know that isn't true.  
"Come clean, Fitz."  
  
I've been so damned selfish. Time to set things right. Time to stop  
hiding. Time to tell Danny the truth. Those three, fucking, huge words.  
I love him.  
  
God. 


	4. Part 4 Danny

Damn.  
  
I tried being angry. It helped for a while. Even made my back feel  
better. Gave me something else to think about, to focus on.  
  
But then the anger gave way to the other pain. And then it hurt more.  
And no morphine pump in the world could take away that hurt.  
  
Damn.  
  
I've been here for almost four days now. Only Viv has come to see me  
since that first day. She's keeping me up to date on the latest office  
gossip – who's screwing who, in both the political and physical senses.  
  
And I'm feeling like I'm a member of both categories. I thought we'd  
gotten to be more than just fuck buddies. We were best friends. I  
thought that meant more.  
  
Damn.  
  
We've known each other for almost two years now. We've been fooling  
around for a year. How come he couldn't say it?  
  
I keep asking myself that question – why? Is it really that hard? Three  
little words. I mean, he had to know it was mutual, right?  
  
Damn.  
  
I shake my head. How stupid can I be? Why should he know? I've never  
said it, either. Three little words.  
  
Maybe it's time to change that. Maybe it's time to really come clean. I  
reach for the phone, ready to call him, but he's at my door.  
  
Damn. 


End file.
